LANSING, Mich. — On the seventh day of an extraordinary sentencing hearing, they found themselves together again: three young women in a sea of dozens who listened and watched and waited for justice to come in a case that had bound them for months.

Larissa Boyce, a 37-year-old mother of four, first met Alexis Alvarado, 19, and Christine Harrison, 23, in November. At the time, they were part of a growing mass of victims who had accused Dr. Lawrence G. Nassar, a former team doctor for U.S.A. Gymnastics, of sexual assault. From the start, they found solidarity in their mutual struggle.

“We have not gone a day without talking,” Ms. Boyce said.

On Wednesday, one piece of their collective story came to an end when Dr. Nassar, after more than 150 victims made themselves heard in court, was sentenced to as many as 175 years in prison. It was, in some ways, more symbolic than punitive. Dr. Nassar had already been sentenced to 60 years in prison on a federal conviction for child pornography.

But this was still the sentence that the victims — survivors, really — craved, and one that the court delivered.

“It does feel like a relief,” said Ms. Alvarado, who felt supported throughout the ordeal by her new friends.

Key among them: Ms. Boyce, whom Ms. Alvarado and Ms. Harrison both say they revere. Ms. Boyce was among the first women to give a name and a face to the victims when she went public with her accusations against Dr. Nassar in March 2017. Ms. Alvarado recalled watching the film clip of Ms. Boyce’s news conference over and over before she found the courage to report that she, too, had been assaulted by Dr. Nassar.

“All right,” Ms. Alvarado recalled telling herself, “I can do this.”

She shared this story on Tuesday night, on the eve of sentencing, at a restaurant outside of Lansing, where she was joined by Ms. Boyce and Ms. Harrison. In explaining her own decision to come forward, Ms. Boyce said she had been emboldened by the story of Queen Esther, a biblical figure celebrated for her bravery and willingness to speak out.

“It just got to the point where if I don’t put my face out there, who will?” Ms. Boyce said. “How is our culture ever going to change if I don’t do it?”

The day before sentencing began last week, nearly 100 of the victims gathered at the E.L. Hannah Community Center in East Lansing, Mich. Many of them discovered strength in numbers, Ms. Boyce said.

At that meeting, an advocacy group presented the women with small, smooth rocks that had words painted on them — words like brave, resilient and strong. They joked among themselves that perhaps it was not the most prudent decision to give rocks to an army of angry, determined women.

“I took four,” said Ms. Harrison, a senior at Michigan State.

Ms. Alvarado selected one that had the word “faith” on its face. Over the course of the hearing these past two weeks, she squeezed the rock so hard that she wore the paint away.

In the weeks before making her statement in court, Ms. Alvarado overhauled it five or six times, she said, as she searched for the right words. Ms. Boyce said she spent months revising hers as she read pieces aloud to her husband, Adam.

“I had a lot to say,” Ms. Boyce said, “because this has been inside me for the past 20 years.”

Ms. Boyce even workshopped her statement with Ms. Harrison, who visited with Ms. Boyce at her home a couple of weeks ago.

“She has an ice-skating rink in her back yard, so we got to have some fun,” Ms. Harrison said.

For Ms. Harrison, the writing process was difficult, she said, in large part because she was concerned for her parents. She did not want to cause them additional pain. So before she spoke in court, she rehearsed by reading her statement to her parents at home. She had to turn her back to them, she said, otherwise she would have lost her composure. When she finished, her mother was sobbing.

“She said, ‘I’m so proud of you,’” Ms. Harrison said. “That felt so good, just to hear that she’s proud of me.”

For all three women, the hearing was a mix of inspiration and devastation, of hope and sadness. They were heartened by the huge number women who gave up their anonymity and reclaimed their voices but were distraught that so many had suffered the same pain. At times, Ms. Alvarado said, the resurfacing of old wounds was nearly too much to bear.

“It’s overwhelming,” she said.

Adam Boyce, who teaches choir, said he was heartbroken when one of his former students, Emma Ann Miller, 15, delivered an impact statement.

“I about lost it,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

As more victims filled the room with their stories and their sadness, Ms. Boyce said she had to cope with knowing that so much of Dr. Nassar’s damage could have been prevented. Ms. Boyce is one of two women who have said that, in 1997, they told Kathie Klages, then the women’s gymnastics coach at Michigan State, that Dr. Nassar had molested them. Ms. Klages resigned last year and late Wednesday the fallout at Michigan State continued, with Lou Anna K. Simon, the president of the university, announcing her own resignation.

“It’s been a heck of a 14-odd months of coming to terms with the reality of it all,” Ms. Boyce said, “and how I did the right thing but was shut down and brainwashed into believing that what I said was wrong and that I was wrong.”

During a recess from court last week, the three women joined a large group of other victims for lunch near the courthouse. As they ate, a television at the restaurant showed clips of victim impact statements that several of them had just delivered. When the women went to pay, they were informed that three men had picked up their tab. The men identified themselves as fathers and grandfathers, with daughters and granddaughters, and they began to cry.

“We got our pictures with them,” Ms. Boyce said.

“People have been so kind,” Ms. Harrison said.

When Ms. Boyce left the courthouse on Tuesday night with her husband, she discovered dozens of young people waiting outside with handmade posters. Ms. Boyce noticed several that said, “We believe you!” and the impact of what was happening here began to dawn on her.

“I really, truly believe it’s a moment in history of empowerment for little girls and women — and even men and boys — who have been abused to say, ‘I can speak up,’” she said.

Later that night, as Ms. Boyce, Ms. Harrison and Ms. Alvarado discussed the past two weeks — and the months that preceded them — over pretzels and fried mozzarella sticks, they seemed to sense that some resolution was coming.

At the restaurant, Ms. Alvarado was approached by someone she recognized: Ira Childress, the athletic director at her old high school. Mr. Childress, who recalled that Ms. Alvarado was “one heck of a diver,” had been watching the news. He gave her a hug.

“You guys are doing an amazing job,” he said. “I commend you 100 percent, and our prayers are with you.”

As the hearing drew to a close, Ms. Boyce said she hoped the spotlight would continue to shine on the issue of sexual abuse. She did not want to be forgotten.

“This,” she said, “is the beginning of our story.”

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page B14 of the New York edition with the headline: 3 United: ‘This Is the Beginning of Our Story’. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe